


Pour Some Sugar On Me

by orphan_account



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Apartment AU, Blow Jobs, Charles You Slut, Erik falls in love, Erik is emotionally constipated, Erik is not a Happy Bunny, Erik lives with a promiscuous charles who moans down the building every other night, Fluff, Humour, M/M, Non powered au, Non-powered AU, Riding, bad pick up line, charles is nineteen years old, epic sex, erik is 30+, flustered Erik, slight dirty talking, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 03:33:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1154295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik moves in to his new apartment only to find that his neighbour is a very promiscuous young lad who moans down the building every other night. </p>
<p>It's hard to get any work done and even more sexually frustrating for him. He has no idea who this young lad is except that when Erik meets him, he's gonna give him a piece of his mind. </p>
<p>And then he does meet him, and his name is Charles. And Erik doesn't quite know how to react.</p>
<p>The AU where young 19 year old Charles is adamant on getting into Erik's pants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pour Some Sugar On Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Synekdokee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synekdokee/gifts).



> One of Syn's prompts from last year. This is long overdue, I apologize.
> 
> I've written and re-written this a few million times. A lot of people have beta-ed it to the point where I no longer remember who have helped me through my completion of this story. Still, I appreciate all of your efforts. Thank you!
> 
> Either ways, enjoy this story! Hopefully!
> 
> Title is from the song of the same title by Def Leppard.

Erik moves into his new apartment in May. It’s a nice,  _sufficient_  building situated in Upper West side Manhattan. Sufficient because Erik’s never been a stickler for living in high end apartments with sleek designs and grandly furnished rooms. Besides, every country feels the same. Everywhere is much too overpopulated now, an unnecessary human minefield that frustrates him to no end as he adds himself to the increasing number.

The last city Erik had lived in was Los Angeles. He’d spent most of his days in the office yelling at the impertinent stupidity of his team members and correcting minor mistakes which were barely forgivable considering how basic they were. It wasn’t at all entertaining for him and by the time his contract had ended, he felt as though he had already thrown half his life out the window, his hair taking the brunt of it as it began to grey - and he’s only thirty six years old. It’s not that bad though; only a few visible strands that stand out amongst the rest. He somehow manages to convince himself that he looks sexier rather than a man who already has one leg in the coffin.

Of course, when he received an offer to join NEO Technologies, he jumped straight at it.

He had thought then that things would look up, that his life would somehow stop revolving around humans who got on his nerves and forced him to remind himself that the sentence for homicide isn’t worth getting his hands dirtied.

His first day at work goes as he expects it will. A walk around the building, a brief introduction with the rest of the colleagues, his boss going through every last person’s name while Erik forces a smile for so long he’d probably strained his cheek muscles. By the time the day ends there are names swimming in his head.

Carl…Jason… Marianne… there’s a Kelvin somewhere but he cares not as he slams the apartment door shut, knocking out every last name from the inner most corners of his mind.

“Bloody fucking bullshit,” he curses, dropping his briefcase and flinging his suit jacket onto the couch. There will be no dinner tonight. It’s far too late and he’s too drained to give a damn about the angry rumbling of his stomach.

“Retaliate for all I care, I’m going to bed,” he tells it, noting the thickening of his accent.

A quick shower and ten minutes later, he’s drowning face-first in the softness of his pillow.

Sleep is glorious. Sleep is wonderful and beautiful and it envelopes his entire being, caressing his body and melting the stress away with the softness of fluffy blankets and the warmth it brings with it.

It’s magnificent and luxurious and before Erik knows it, it is already morning. He stirs in bed, eyes snapping wide. Except…

It is still dark. Much darker than morning should be. He cannot even see his fingers. He turns to check the alarm clock and it’s one in the fucking morning.

Not only has he barely slept for two hours, there’s a rhythmic rocking motion he can feel now, something hammering against the walls. Like someone pounding nails into it - hard and fast, and then slowly again before it speeds up.

Erik rubs at his face and groans. It should stop after a moment or so. Some people can be so enthusiastic about decorating their homes. But it doesn’t, and now Erik can hear something mewling in the background. Muffled, but definitely there. He’s not dreaming it, he can’t be. And then it gets louder, and he hears…

_“Oh god… oh_   _fucking hell yes… harder, please!”_

Erik’s mind kick starts, running at an incredible speed.

What the hell?

He abruptly sits up on the bed, body jerking forward so fast he almost pulls a muscle. He’s seething. He’s trying to sleep. There’s a cat in heat howling one level below his. The entirety of this situation is frustrating to say the least.

_“Come on, I’m almost there… oh my god, right there—ah! Oh yes!”_

Erik has the strongest urge to stomp downstairs dressed only in his boxers and nothing else, slam his fists against his neighbour’s door and tell the asshole to shut the fuck up.

_“Oh Tom… Tom… Tom!”_

With each moan his neighbour yells Tom’s name increasingly louder, the flimsy walls of Erik’s apartment shaking, his neighbour’s wanton moans repeating over and over in his head until finally there’s a cracked cry and everything stops.

The silence is almost too much to bear and Erik realizes he’s flushing. He must be, because he’s relatively warmer than when he first woke and he has a nagging feeling his lower half has unwillingly responded to the heated sounds of his neighbour’s love making. He swears under his breath, flops back onto the bed, aggressively tugs the covers over and forces himself to sleep.

***

When the weekends come, Erik gets actual proper rest since having moved in. It’s something he’s grateful for given the amount of work he’s going to be doing.

Working from morning to night, he has blueprints sprawled all over the living room dining table, his coffee mug placed precariously close to the edge, but he knows it will not fall over; he’s not one to be careless about his movements. He skips lunch and breaks for tea, refilling his coffee mug and then going out to the balcony for a breather.

It’s noisy, as always and expected, and it overlooks the streets below. Downstairs, a couple quarrels with each other. The girl looks devastated, her hair tousled along with the wind as she hurls vulgarities that Erik keenly hears even from the sixth floor. He smokes a fag, letting it fill his lungs before snubbing it out and getting back to work.

By eight, he’s mostly done—only needing a few more checks before he hits the sack. His pencil is busy scratching over papers when  _it_ happens.

_It_  is subtle at first. An almost unnoticeable shake of the cold coffee in his mug, a ripple like someone has touched the surface with only the tip of their forefinger. Once and then it stops, like it had been an accident in the first place, like it was never meant to be. So Erik assumes nothing of it; didn’t even see it in fact.

And then it happens again and it’s stronger this time, the liquid forming an unsteady ripple like raindrops falling upon the surface. Erik can only stare at it, bewilderment written all over his face as he watches it return to a state of calm. He squints his eyes at his coffee mug, trying to make out whatever might be going on with it. He manages to convince himself that it’s most definitely not an earthquake, and then it happens another bloody time and—god damn it, this is some Jurassic Park bullshit going on!

The idiot’s voice surges through the walls and Erik’s blood boils.

_‘Oh yes,’_  and,  _‘please I need you,'_ and then, ‘ _Ben! Ben! Ben!’_

Erik grabs his metallic pencil holder and throws it against the wall, knowing for sure there will be a dent there now.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” He stands up so fast the chair falls over. Muttering furiously to himself, he picks it up and hastily pushes it under the table. This is the second time since he’s moved in and he’s only been around for one week. No one should be able to moan that loud, and no one should be fucking that hard that he has to move his mug to the center of the table just to make sure it doesn’t start shaking enough to tip over the edge.

_“Oh Ben, you’re so big… I need you inside me… I need you, my love…”_

That is exactly when Erik decides to stalk downstairs in the old sweatpants and the white V-neck shirt he’s been wearing the whole day. He doesn’t look anything like his usual self when he’s decked out in suits and dress shirts during work. He is cranky and annoyed, and most likely the image of a man who hasn’t gotten laid in a while. Which isn’t true; he just hasn’t had time to go pick people up when he’s been buried in work thus far.

He takes the stairs. It’s only one level down. He can hear the man’s moans echoing through the hallways. Bloody hell. 

_This is a nightmare._  

The man is howling now, and Erik has to grind his teeth together to keep his emotions from running wild. And just as he makes it to the door, it stops.

No more moaning and screaming of Ben’s name, no more shaking of the walls. Silence. Complete and utter silence.

Now, Erik doesn’t know what to do.

The plan had been to kick the door down while his neighbour was midway through copulation, but now he can’t do that and he’s not inclined to disturb  _after_  they’re down from their high. Erik has tunnel vision, his train of thought had been to catch them red handed and now the train has been abruptly put to a stop.

He grumbles and runs his fingers through his hair before making his way upstairs, once more hiding away into his home.

By the end of the month, Erik learns that his neighbour fucks men and men only. He learns that his neighbour likes it rough on the kitchen table, but gentle on the bed. His neighbour likes to get on his knees, apparently gives the best blowjobs ever and likes to have his hands bounded behind his back as he’s fucked face first into the bed. His neighbour likes to do it standing, sometimes against the wall, which explains the constant tremors, and likes having his hair tugged on sharply.

His neighbour is very obviously English, has a filthy mouth, and has an incredibly wide range of vocabulary that would put any English major to shame. He learns that between eight o’ clock to two o’ clock every Saturday night, he needs to place all delicate objects away and take down the photo frames from the walls lest they fell off and broke into pieces.

Finally, he learns that Tom, Ben, Jason, Alex, David, Oliver, Jeremy, Connor, Finn, Raphael and Gabriel are names that he will never ever be able to forget in this lifetime.

***

Staying in the apartment soon becomes living hell. Asides from having to deal with excessive noise pollution from his downstairs neighbour every other day, objects and other belongings fall off from where they are supposed to be firmly nailed to the wall or slotted into the bookshelf. It’s a hassle to be working on the finer details of a building’s blue prints only to have the alarm clock go off and for him to prepare for when the next cacophony of sounds will travel through the thin walls. He’s already taken to wearing ear plugs these days and listening to loud rock music whenever these sessions happen. If there was one good thing that’s occured since moving in, it would likely be his reconciliation with his long lost love of the rock band ACDC; other than which, it’s generally been... frustrating.

At times, Erik thinks his neighbour’s doing this on purpose. He’d hear him speak in that enticing voice of his:

_“Oh… Oh Chris – Chris, you’re so big. You’re so big… it feels so good. Fuck me. Please, fuck me harder! Yes!”_

And Erik always wonders just how is it he can hear all the words enunciated in such perfected dictation. The walls were thin, yes, but even then they should come across as muffled the way they once did a long time ago. Recently, however, the things Erik hears from down below has only gotten filthier and dirtier and honestly, just how creative can one get with their vocabulary?

What is it about ‘plumbing’ and ‘filling jars’ and ‘want your big meaty bratwurst’ that had anything to do with sex at all?

He’s beginning to suspect his promiscuous neighbour’s doing this to spite Erik, to laugh at the poor old sod living upstairs and to test Erik’s patience. Erik’s quickly dissipating patience.

Other than the problem with the neighbour though, he could say he’s been  _fairly_  well since moving in. He’s gotten more work done here than he’s ever managed in LA and during the times he’s not working, he actually manages to explore Manhattan, to go through its nook and crannies, trying out different restaurants and smaller joints he’s only heard about from the locals. One thing that bugs him however, is his recent conclusion that he’s being stalked. Someone’s watching him. And by someone, Erik means someone’s very blatantly watching him.

From afar, Erik spots his stalker making his way down the street towards where Erik stands just outside the floral shop. He sees a flop of dark brown hair that would otherwise look black if not for the sun. He sees the man’s blue eyes even from several meters away, and finally sees his very very red lips stretched into a smile as he tilts his head back up to meet Erik’s slightly confused gaze.

It’s the same man he's seen countless times now, the same one he finds in the coffee shop just down the street in overly large sweaters and cardigans, the same man he spots at Tesco’s carrying far too many instant food packets in his carrier, and the same one he often encounters in the foyer.

Okay, so not a stalker, but someone who’s staying in the apartment as well. It’ll be the first person Erik knows of excluding the neighbour he’s already been indirectly introduced to.

“Why are you smiling at me?” he asks when the young man hasn’t ceased his curious inspection of his face.

“Hmm… do I need a reason to smile?”

“You don’t need a reason to smile, but why are you smiling  _at_  me?”

“Well, because I think you’re wondrously handsome and also that you’d do well with a smile. Hello there. I’m Charles Xavier.”

“Erik Lehnsherr.” Erik eyes him with a certain amount of disdain and incomprehensiveness. People in America are so fond of small talks, an aspect of life Erik had never been good at.

“Erik.” Charles smiles now, bright and glorious like the sun. “That’s a very nice name. Might it be German?”

“Yes, it is. I'm German and also Jewish.”

“Mm, but your accent doesn’t sound German,” Charles comments, turning towards the flowers. Sunflowers. They seem to stretch a little closer towards Charles as though his voice carries with it the qualities of a siren. Erik has to agree, Charles speaks in a melodious manner that he is immediately drawn to.

“I’ve been travelling,” he explains.

“I see!” Charles brightens. “Well, it’s very nice. I like it.”

“…Thanks.”

He’s still eyeing Charles warily, if only because he has no idea who he is or what Charles wants with him. 

“So… Erik. What do you do for a living?” Charles has a stack of books in his arms that he holds close to his chest, body swaying from side to side in a gentle hum.

“I’m an engineer,” he says to his stalker, one who looks incredibly young with that baby face and bright blue eyes. “Are you still studying? How old are you, fifteen?”

“Nineteen, actually,” Charles corrects.

“You don’t look nineteen,” Erik scoffs in disbelief. Charles looks fifteen, and Erik is content to believe that he is so.

“Neither do you sound German,” Charles says. Erik smirks. He can appreciate someone with a sharp mouth and quick wit. “But no, I have been told by many that I look younger than I actually am. It’s the genes. My mother doesn’t look a day older than twenty five, to be honest. She’s still getting her fair share of pursuers. It’s all very heartening news. She doesn’t handle being alone very well.”

The dip of Charles’ words as they softened is a smidgen bit uncomfortable. There appears to be some untold history in the young boy’s life that Erik figures he isn’t entitled to, not that he’s any bit interested. Okay, maybe just a little.

Erik clears his throat, pushing at a single sunflower stalk and then pulling his hand back so that the flower lolled forward.

“You must have your fair share of pursuers as well then. Or maybe even more than she does.”

The way Charles’ cheeks take on a darker shade of red is a genuine delight that brings a smile to Erik’s face.

“So you do. How many?”

“Ahh… well,” Charles lowers his head, turning his gaze away, embarrassed now. “I don’t wish to brag, but um, I’ve rather lost count, unfortunately.”

Hm. Impressive.

“The poor smitten girls,” Erik murmurs mostly to himself.

“Men,” Charles says. “Although not technically ‘poor’ things, as you say.”

Erik’s brows rise to his forehead. This similarity in gender preferences bring about a certain memory from when he’d lie in his bed fighting the thunderous roars of love making in the apartment below him. It’s a thought he lets slide when the torrent of memory starts to flood his mind. He winces, hoping Charles hasn’t caught his odd expression. Fortunately, Charles is busy scrutinizing lily petals.

“But you're attached, aren’t you?”

Charles pipes up and blinks at him. “Oh no, what gave you that idea? I wish I was, but I’ve got my eyes on someone at the moment.”

“Then the – ” Erik bares his own neck, pointing to a love bite spotted just below Charles' left ear.

Charles’ cheeks redden even more, and the flush spreads down. Erik’s eyes trail the blooming shade of his skin until he catches himself and forces them up to where Charles’ eyes are. Dilated. The blacks of it swallowing up the depths of blue. Charles is flustered, and he finds it both laughable and adorable. Oh, the joys of being young.

Charles opens his mouth but promptly closes them again, unable to decide on the right words. Erik watches with a personal interest. He stuffs his hands into his pants pocket and resists the urge to ruffle Charles’ hair.

“I’m not really asking for an answer, you know. I’m just teasing you.”

The boy blinks at him. He does that a lot. Erik notices just how long those lashes are.

“Right, of course. Yes,” Charles chuckles softly.

For a while, they stand outside the floral shop in mutual silence. Charles admires the flowers on display while Erik squints his eyes at the florist who gives them an awe-struck foolish smile. She’s smiling at him. He cannot figure why everyone in the damned world seem to be smiling at him today. Has he got a sticker on him somewhere that’s asking people to do so? She probably thinks Charles is his kid brother. Boyfriend, even.

He sighs.

“Are you going to buy anything, Charles?” he asks sharply.

“Ah, not really, no. I just came to say hi because we’re neighbours.”

So he was right, they  _are_  neighbours. He says nothing afterwards because what else is he to say anyways? They’ve already done their introductions, and now either is staring at bright yellow sunflowers and Erik’s beginning to compare the radiance of Charles’ bubbly personality to those of the sunflowers.

“Well, I’m going. I’ve got work to do,” Erik says.

“I’ll follow you back, I live a floor below you, I think.”

Well, that makes two neighbours living one floor below him. They walk past the guard and Erik nods at him. Charles smiles at him, a cute little boyish smile.

As they enter the lift, he asks, “What are you studying?”

“Hmm? Oh, Genetics. Genetics and Psychology.”

“Double degrees?”

The lift is without any sort of music, which he’s glad for. They talk about Charles, about Charles’ double degrees, his interest in genetics and the human mind. Charles is a genius, apparently, and Erik’s brow rises in fascination. Charles does look very academic, the sort that stayed home and did nothing but buried face first into books, emerging only when his stomach did flips and protested. Perhaps it is Charles’ softer looks, his gentler nature and personality that by the end of the elevator ride, Erik decides he rather likes Charles.

They step out of the elevator, and Erik follows. Charles isn’t done talking, and he doesn’t have the heart to interrupt Charles when he’s so enthusiastically going on about the current experiments and studies he’s doing in school. So, he keeps silent and gladly listens, sparing Charles a smile or two whenever their eyes meet.

As they stride down the hall, he notices the door numbering. They are approaching 5H, and his promiscuous neighbour lives in 5H while Erik lived in 6H.

D… E…. F…

Does Charles live in unit G? He can only imagine the sort of disturbance Charles has to put up with every single night. Studying couldn’t possibly have been an easy task.

Erik expects to stop before the door unit G, but Charles goes beyond that, and he rears his head towards door G, looking at it none too longingly. Their footsteps are muted on the black carpeted floor and as they arrive at 6H, Erik’s jaw drops.

“Do you… live here?”

“Yup,” Charles replies cheerily.

Erik stares and stares again at the unit number, narrowing his eyes at it.

“Do you have a roommate?”

Charles shoves the key into the key hole and pushes the door open.

“Nope. I live alone. Are you coming in?”

“What?” he blurts out. Charles laughs softly at Erik’s reaction.

“I was just asking if you’d like to come in for coffee. Would you like to?”

And then Charles with all his shy embarrassment and otherworldly academic charm gives Erik a wide knowing grin and Erik’s heart begins to thump so fast it might burst from his chest. Charles Xavier is Mr-Promiscuous-Neighbour-From-Down-Below and Erik is standing outside his apartment, finally meeting this young boy. This boy whom Erik has gotten so acquainted with during those many long nights such that he’ll likely be able to draft out Charles’ evening activities schedules if he so wished to.

If there were any emotions Erik should be feeling it should be that of anger, fierce and pulsing and undeniable. But all he feels as Charles takes a step forward towards him is the way his stomach twists tight and how light headed he’s become. He’s breathless, and the words that form in his head don’t quite seem to come out right.

“I – this isn’t – You’re – Oh my god, you’re actually…”

“Yes?”

Erik might be giving his best impression of a horrified red panda that’s been scared shitless, and if he feels just slightly cheated, Charles doesn’t at all seem offended. His smile stays, and Erik gulps around the tight constriction in his throat as he’s slowly backed up against the corridor wall.

“Come in for Coffee, Erik?” Charles purrs.

“I – ” There aren’t any more steps for him to take backwards.

“Erik?”

He’s not proud of himself at the way he’s practically shrivelling against the hard surface. Charles is but a boy, but he’s an incredibly attractive boy and he’s trailing slim fingers down the side of Erik’s face and neck and Erik’s skin prickles as a fiery want courses through his veins. Those blue hues catch his gaze and for a brief suspension of time he’s lost in them. Entranced. But he can’t, and he mustn’t, and his hands burn where they push at Charles’ shoulders until he can find his escape up the stairs and back into his own unit. His fingers are trembling when he slots the key in and scrambles inside the safety of his apartment.

Slumping against the door, Erik heaves.

“Fuck.”

He pants raggedly, taking in shaky breaths as his legs collapses underneath him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re fucking kidding me!”

His jeans are uncomfortably tight.

He’s hard.

He’s hard and his downstairs neighbour is apparently Charles who studies genetics and psychology and has been happily following him around and had smiled at him today before finally inviting Erik in for coffee.

God damn, he needs to wank. Or coffee. He needs coffee. Yes, that’s exactly what he needs. Strong, bitter coffee. And a cold shower.

He gets up and does all of that. Well, minus the wanking. He'd never be able to live with himself if he’d gotten off on Charles, the young boy.

Erik decides then to put this all behind him. He knows now the face behind the voice but that information is redundant and serves no purpose.

There are nights when Erik hears Charles at it again but cannot find it in himself to do anything about it. On one hand, he’d quite like to go downstairs, kick the door down and give a lecture about how inconsiderate it is to be making that much noise at this time of the night, to shame Charles, really; not that Charles has any understanding of the word. And on the other, he thinks he might actually miss it, rather like having Stockholm syndrome.

Then there are the moments where Erik’s walking back to the building and he spots Charles returning into his apartment with books spilling from his arms. Erik’s body jerks forward, catching them before they do spill over and when Charles smiles at him, Erik’s face flushes with warmth. He’d always disappear back into his own flat before he could do anything stupid like to agree to the coffee Charles just might invite him in again for.

The final straw is when he hears Charles calling his name.

“Erik... Oh, Erik… ” Hollowed out gasps and whines that travel through the floor and to his ears.

The cold showers stop working after a while, and Erik resorts to burying under the blankets, waiting it out like a soldier would behind the trench, waiting for the war to end.

It’s only with sheer determination and will that he does not allow himself to jerk off to the sweet sounds Charles makes. And afterwards, he hides his face into the pillow and groans as sunlight fleets in through parted curtains.

Yet again, he hasn’t gotten any sleep.

Great. Just great.

***

There’s a knock at the door. Erik swings it open. Before him Charles stands with an empty plastic measuring cup in one hand and a playful grin stretching at those lips.

In a white dress shirt that’s rolled to his elbows, a pair of casual dark jeans that hug his legs nicely, and a choice selection of oxfords, Charles looks good enough to eat. Erik swallows.

“What do you want, Charles?” Erik demands, schooling forward a scowl, brow creasing in some semblance of control.

There is a moment where Erik’s eyes search across Charles’ face, mapping out those two freckles on the tip of Charles’ nose before they fall to his lips. Red. Ruby red and plump. They look soft and kissable. If Charles catches him glancing at those tempting lips of his, he gives no indication.

Instead, with a single empty plastic measuring cup in hand, Charles tilts up and says, “Hello, Erik. I ran out of sugar while baking. Could I bother you for a cup?”

“No," Erik says.

Of course Charles would be undeterred; he looks the type, all pouty lips and puppy eyes.

“Oh come on, it’s just a cup of sugar. Surely you’ve enough to spare?” Charles is playing the part of Oliver Twist and he’s doing it remarkably well. “Erik, pretty please? May I have some of your sugar? It’d taste so good on my tongue, smeared all over my lips. Please?”

If he’d thrown in the  _please sir,_  Erik might’ve slammed the door in his face there and then and that would be that.

He cannot hide the twitch in his jaw, or the little visible shiver that thrills through him. He can only hope to continue keeping Xavier’s eyes up here, locked with his own, away from the stirring of arousal yonder south _. Oh God, what did I do in my past life for me to deserve this?_ And not the good kind of ‘this’ as well. Erik’s morals are in question here.

“Having a little problem, Mr Lehnsherr?” Charles blinks innocently. The boy spares a glance to Erik’s crotch and the grin on his face only grows wider.

“Are you seducing me?” Erik asks. Honestly, he has no idea what Charles wants.

“Yes.” Charles nods fervently.

“Why?” Erik folds his arms across his chest.

“Because I like you, that’s why. Because I saw you when you were moving in. You were wearing a grey tank top so tight I could practically see your six pack. Also, your sweat pants are possibly a size too small. But that’s okay, I like it. It makes your arse look nice. I’d like to touch them, please. If you don’t mind. Both your abs and your arse,” Charles says, entirely too direct for Erik’s taste.

Erik’s brows pinch together. “Do you always go to such extreme lengths to seduce someone?”

“Not always.” Charles shrugs. “Only for you.”

Erik groans. “Look. Charles. Whatever you’re doing, why you’re doing it, I’m flattered. Obviously, you’ve a thing for older men, which might be the reason for this, but I really can’t bed you. I can’t. You’re fifteen years old.”

“Nineteen,” Charles interjects, that beaming smile ever present, a hint of amusement in the curl of his lips.

“Okay, nineteen. Although you look more fifteen than nineteen. Point is, I don’t bed kids, alright? And you shouldn’t let older men fuck you either. Most of them aren’t kind, they'll take advantage of you, they’ll look at you and want to ruin you, and I don’t mean that in the nice way. You’ve no idea what they can do and what they’re capable of. Some of them –  _most_  of them probably carry diseases. You need to take care of yourself, Charles. You need to keep yourself safe. ”

“You don’t though… right?”

“What?”

‘’You don’t have any diseases. Do you?”

Erik considers. He could lie about this. He probably should lie about this and the whole nightmare will be over. Eventually though he resigns to the truth.

“No, I don’t. Still, I don’t see how that – ”

“—Excellent.”

The next thing Erik knows, Charles is pressing up flushed against him, those lips Erik have long dreamed about now kissing his mouth. They are exactly as he imagined they would be; sinful, sweet like ripe cherries, soft under Erik’s teeth that Erik cannot resist a bite. And when he does so, tugging tentatively, Charles moans for him, a quiet cry both shy and seductive.

It’s so damned hot.

Charles’ arms wind around his neck and their legs brush together. Erik finds himself backed up to the nearest wall and he squeezes his fingers on Charles' slim hips to stop the boy from pushing so eagerly. It earns him a high pitched whine from Charles just as their tongues stroke together, as though Charles liked being touched and handled and squeezed like this.

Charles wriggles in his grasp, rubbing against the length of his body. The boy does wonderful things with his tongue, things the nineteen year old Erik would not have been able to do. Erik never even got his first kiss until years after he graduated from university.

To pull away from the temptation that is Charles is nothing short of extremely difficult. To glance at Charles’ face, his boyish grin and bright blue eyes, the flutter of eyelashes as Charles blinks up at him, to feel his cock aching in his pants and yet for him to still say, “This isn’t happening,” is so dastardly difficult he has to choke the words out.

“Oh?” Charles tilts his head to one side, questioning Erik with an incredulous look.

“You’re nineteen,” Erik rasps as Charles drops to his knees with a thud.

“And?” Charles tugs at his belt, fingers working skilfully as his pants are pulled down to his thighs, his erection jutting in the air, already thick and swollen. Erik hisses at the rush of cold air. He puts his hand atop Charles’ head and gently pushes him away.

“I’m already legal,” Charles says, pouting when Erik doesn’t let him anywhere near his cock.

“I didn’t say you weren’t. It’s just that,” Erik pauses, trying to find a nicer way to phrase it just as Charles closes his hand around him to lick a wet stripe up the underside with the broad of his tongue. All the words jumble in Erik’s mind. He groans, “I don’t fuck jail baits. They’re trouble. And you barely look fifteen.” 

_I’ll feel guilty. I already do right now._

Charles shrugs, uncaring for Erik’s words. Erik dips his chin down and watches those long lashes press against pink cheeks as Charles flutters his eyes shut. Charles is doing this thing where he rubs his face against Erik’s cock, nuzzling against it, and the contentedness in Charles’ expression only further crumbles Erik’s morals.

Erik’s hips buck forward on their own accord, and precome smears across Charles’ left cheek. Charles’ gasp is a hitched breath. Surprised but… pleased. He thinks Charles might have possibly purred a little.

That mouth is on Erik’s cock again in a moment, kissing the fat head before slowly, torturously pushing the tip pass pursed lips, dragging over the shaft until Charles’ nose is buried in dark curls and Erik is completely engulfed by wet velvet warmth. He feels the rounded head of his dick nudge against Charles’ fluttering throat and he swears, tightening his grip on the boy’s hair while white sparks burst behind his eyes.

“How do you – God, you’re really good at this. Really,  _really_  good…”

Charles flicks his gaze up to meet Erik’s and begins to suck, long, slow, powerful sucks as though he has all the time in the world and how he wants to spend it is to be here, on his knees, sucking Erik’s cock;  _worshipping_  it.

A satisfied hum sends vibrations all around Erik and he feels it tingle down his spine and to his toes. He cries out, head thumping against the wall as his hips suddenly snap forward without any given warning, causing Charles to gag, choking momentarily.

The throat around him ripples, squeezing him in tight rhythms. It’s far too addicting, too good for Erik to hold himself back when Charles is offering everything to him.

The young boy himself doesn’t seem to oppose the idea. In fact, despite the slight wetness of his eyes, Charles only sucks harder, spurred on by the effect he has on Erik, swallowing the length of Erik’s cock like an Olympic gold medallist holder of blow jobs.

Erik groans, low and dragged out, and Charles smiles.

“Look at you,” Erik breathes, staring appreciatively at the sight before him. “On your knees for me, sucking me off like it’s the only thing you want to do. Like you were born for it.”

Charles’ brows are lightly furrowed and his eyes are shut, but the whine he makes is unmistakable; he enjoys it.

“You like this, don’t you, Charles,” Erik bites out. “You like getting on your knees and having your mouth filled with someone else’s cock. You like being used.”

Erik cups Charles’ face, palming the swell of his cheek to feel his own cock pushing against it. Charles bobs his head as though he’s agreeing; the motion brings with it delicious wet friction. When Charles pulls back, saliva dribbles down his chin. He wipes it away with the back of his hand.

“If you’re going to talk dirty to me, you’re going to have to try harder, Erik. I’ve heard better. Seen better too,” Charles says. “Not that you aren’t good enough for me, oh no. You have a very fine specimen, darling. I assure you.” Charles chuckles. The cocky bastard. He holds Erik by the base and flicks his tongue across the underside of his shaft, like a cat licking at cream, head tipping back after each self-indulgent lick.

“Now,” Charles begins, nuzzling Erik’s thigh. Erik’s denim will smell of Charles by the time all of this scent-rubbing is over. “This is what we’re going to do. I’m going to suck you off for another minute and you are going to put both your hands on my head. And then,” Charles hikes Erik’s shirt up to nip along his pelvic bone, making Erik shiver pleasantly, “You are going to fuck my mouth.”

Erik could have come right there and then. Does Charles even know the effect of what he says has on him? The boy probably knows.

Mustering up a rougher tone, Erik gruffly says, “That’s what I intend to do.”

“Then do it,” Charles laughs, taking Erik into his mouth again.

He puts one hand on Charles’ head then and tugs sharply at soft brown hair, earning himself a guttural moan. His intention is to make it hurt, but evidently, Charles is enjoying it. Fucking hell. Even when he pushes his prick in and out of Charles’ mouth, sliding it past swollen and saliva glistened lips - brutally  _fucking_  Charles’ mouth - Charles takes it all like it is his pleasure to.

“God damn, you’re such a good cocksucker,” Erik says in admittance. His defeat has Charles grinning.

Then, Charles pulls back, and Erik is a dazed mess.

Dimly, he realizes that he’s still achingly hard and that he’d really like to come all over Charles face and neck, marking him. It’ll look wonderful. White upon heated, flushed skin. Primal. It is what Charles does to him; makes Erik come undone. 

“Why’d you stop?” Erik swallows heavily, panting.

“I did say one minute, didn’t I? And frankly, you look like you won’t last long enough for a second round,” Charles explains. “I’m not leaving until I get your cock inside me, pounding me into the bed. Now, if you don’t mind?”

Charles gets up on his feet and kisses Erik hard. It’s a sloppy kiss, full of tongue, teeth and saliva; Erik can taste himself, the bitter salt of precome in Charles’ mouth. He likes that Charles goes putty when he wraps an arm around his waist to better fit their bodies together, and when Erik nudges his thigh between Charles’ legs, the boy gives a full body shiver that delights Erik to no end.

This boy is going to be the death of him.

Charles ends the kiss first; he smiles at Erik.

“Come on then, let’s get to bed.”

How they get to his room, Erik cannot remember. When he’s aware of himself again, he sees Charles above him, straddling his waist. Charles’ eyes are screwed shut and Erik has three lubed fingers inside him, stretching him open. Charles darts out his tongue to lick glossy lips and his teeth bite down into his lower one whenever Erik crooks his fingers just so.

The boy likes this, enjoys being stretched wide and filled to the brim, having the pads of Erik’s fingers press against his prostate and rub at it until Charles can only throw his head back, his back arching like a bow pulled taut, the boy’s swollen member twitching proudly against his belly. He looks intoxicated, drunk on pleasure. And Erik takes it all in. He watches him, mesmerized.

The moment is broken when Charles speaks, mimicking his earlier question.

“Why’d you stop?” Charles’ smile is crooked, and he sounds a little breathless.

“I can’t stop watching you,” Erik confesses. He has no idea what’s gotten into him but he teases, “You were so boring I started counting the number of freckles you’ve got across your shoulders.”

Charles barks out a laugh. “And how many are there?” He leans down to kiss Erik on the mouth, flicking his tongue over his lip just before the other can reciprocate.

“Cock tease,” Erik growls. Charles heads to the bedside drawer to rummage through Erik’s belongings. It is no difficult task finding the condoms; he lives alone, no point hiding them in obscure places in fear of younger siblings forever scarring their innocent minds.

“From what I can see, there are eight of them spread out across your shoulders,” Erik says without much thought.

“Is that it?” Charles sits by Erik’s side, one leg folded and tucked under his thigh while his other foot barely brushes against the floor. He peels open the condom packet with his teeth and rolls it down Erik’s shaft, closing his hand around it to lazily stroke a few times. Erik groans, wanting so desperately to fuck Charles already. Once lube is lathered all over him, Erik watches as Charles throws his leg over him, reaching behind to align the tip to the rim of his hole. Erik ‘tsks’ when Charles teases by pushing the head of his cock past the muscle only to pull it out and do it all over again.

“Fucking hell, are you or are you not going to ride me?” Erik heaves, his hips bucking up.

Nary another word, Charles sinks down in a single slide and the tightness and heat is suddenly too much and not enough at all. He claws at the sheets as Charles begins to lift himself up and sit down again, starting a languid pace.

It is pure bliss. For all the men Charles has fucked, it doesn’t make sense that he would feel so tight around him, squeezing him like he couldn’t possibly get enough of Erik’s cock, as though he wants to always be that full and filled. When Charles starts to roll his hips in circles, Erik swears he sees stars.

The pleasure is immense, overwhelming. The friction and drag of sensitive skin and nerves has Erik groaning himself hoarse, but the sight of Charles atop him is something to behold.

Charles’ hands hold onto Erik’s hips, and his back is a curved line. His damp fringe flop into his eyes, and whenever Erik thrusts up, Charles lets out a hitch of breath - a gasp, a little ‘ah’ sound. His nose scrunches up sometimes. Erik has to admit, it is rather cute, so he makes it a point to thrust up just as Charles grinds down, burying deeper, splitting Charles open, sheathing his cock inside that tight ass.

It’s glorious to hear Charles cry out, a soft, drawn out moan that has Erik’s eyes go dark with lust, his heart thumping hard against his chest. Erik is excited and entranced, and it is then that he realizes he does not want other men to put their filthy hands on Charles ever again.

“Maybe next time,” Charles murmurs, “I’ll get down on my hands and knees and you can fuck me from behind. That way you can continue your incredibly exciting journey of counting how many freckles I have on my body. You can write a book about it. Xavier’s Freckles. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” Charles gives an amused smile.

“Am I supposed to laugh?” Erik retorts blandly.

One moment Charles is contentedly gyrating his hips, the next second he is flipped onto his back as he blinks owlishly at Erik, seemingly oblivious to what had happened. Not until Erik gives a brutal snap of his hips does Charles let out a cracked moan that has Erik thinking, _this is it. This is that moan, the one that shakes the entire building and keeps me awake the whole night long._

Charles squirms underneath him, trying to wriggle away.

“I’m not done with you,” Erik’s voice is a low tremor as his teeth catch on the skin of Charles’ collarbone.

The way he figures, Charles is obviously a student, it wouldn’t do any good to leave a mark at his neck. He will not allow Charles to parade it around like a prize. Hidden away from the eyes of the public and beneath the thin material of his shirt, however, there’d be several marks there, red and stark against his milk white skin, reminding Charles of what they’ve been up to, of Charles’ daring adventures at seducing Erik Lehnsherr.

“Mm… I’m happy to stay.” Charles’ thighs squeeze Erik’s waist and his ankles hook behind him, the heels of his feet digging into Erik’s back. Charles pulls Erik down by the shoulders and nips the outline of his ear, traces it with his tongue and says, “Come on then. Fuck me hard, Erik. Pound me into the bed and make me scream your name, let it be the only thing I’ll ever know to say for the next hour. I know you want me. I’m here now, under you. Take me, Erik. Claim me.”

_Fuck you, you don’t give me orders._  The words hang on the tip of his tongue, but in truth, Erik’s mind is too far gone now to argue, and Charles displaying himself like this is an opportunity he will not waste. If it helps, he intends to pour weeks worth of pent up frustration into fucking the sass out of this Xavier kid until Charles is unable to talk, much less breathe.

He doesn’t give Charles any warning when he starts driving into him mercilessly. His pace brooks no room for slowness, and he pushes Charles further up the bed every time he slams into that tiny little body.

Charles is small, boyish and young and still growing. Erik could easily cage him in, hold him in his arms and envelope him, make sure he can’t run away. Charles himself seems quite fond of the idea, squirming and writhing under Erik with his head turned to his right, baring his throat for Erik to paint his mark.

“You may, if you want to,” Charles mutters, smiling softly.

“You’ve got school. I’m not going to have you parading it around like a peacock.”

“You wear turtlenecks. I’ll just borrow one of them.”

Erik stares down at Xavier incredulously. “You’re crazy.”

“So I’ve heard.”

When Erik bites at Charles’ neck, the whimper he receives is the sexiest sound he’s heard yet.

Afterwards, Erik tries to wipe the grin off Charles’ face by hitching the boy’s knees over his shoulder and pressing him down into the bed, practically bending him in half. Charles gives a broken cry and his moans get increasingly high pitched and that much louder as Erik chases after the familiar tightening in his groin and balls. One of Charles’ legs fall to the side when Erik covers his mouth with a hand, desperately needing him not to moan the apartment down.

It doesn’t work, of course, and Erik removes his hand in favour of using it to jerk Charles off. If any of the neighbours complains, he’ll push Charles to the door and present him as an apology.

Charles comes with a loud cry that Erik is sure can be heard from the first floor. In contrast, Erik comes with a quiet groan, a stark opposite to Charles’ display of what appears to be an earth shattering orgasm.

Erik collapses atop of Charles, exhausted and utterly drained, his body buzzing with endorphins and his muscles aching. He hadn’t had sex this vigorous in years.

As he begins to doze off, Charles paws at him and nudges him to the side. He grunts and begrudgingly gets up to roll the condom off, quickly tying it up before discarding the used rubber in the waste paper basket near his bookshelf. He has every intention of going to sleep when Charles pulls the covers over them both and curls up against him.

“You’re staying for dinner then,” Erik manages to say; he can’t quite find the physical strength to push Charles away.

“I read somewhere that it’s natural for two people to want to cuddle after sex. It’s supposed to help reduce your stress level. Not that you look bad with greying hair. It’s actually quite nice on you. Very handsome,” Charles murmurs happily, burying into Erik’s warmth.

Erik sighs, rolling his eyes in substitute for the shaking of his head if only he could will his neck muscles to comply. 

“I’ll wake you up when dinner’s ready."

Charles hums, pressing a lingering kiss to Erik’s collarbone.

“Not if I wake first.”

“Go the fuck to sleep, Charles.”

And Charles does go to sleep after that. Erik wraps an arm around Charles’ small waist and pulls him in, breathing in his scent of green tea shampoo and light sweat before shutting his eyes, quite sated indeed.

.

.

.

The next day, Charles comes back with a small empty plate in hand.

 

“Hello, Erik. I ran out of butter while baking. Could I bother you for a stick of butter, please?"

 

A. Stick. Of. Butter.

 

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been translated by: 
> 
> [analgisia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analgisia/pseuds/analgisia) into [Chinese](http://singleness.blog132.fc2blog.us/blog-entry-31.html).
> 
> [Koshka_Chromonogka](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Koshka_Chromonogka/pseuds/Koshka_Chromonogka) into [Russian](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3177383).


End file.
